


Christmas, Inc.

by beggars_visored



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Bakery, Bed & Breakfast, But whatever, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Gay, Gay Male Character, Louis-centric, M/M, Small Towns, YOLO, it's Christmas, lots of gay, this is just kind of ridiculous, who cares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beggars_visored/pseuds/beggars_visored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is a recent college grad desperate for some sort of paid position. Call it a Christmas miracle, but he winds up working for baked goods magnate Harry Styles - who, it turns out is the biggest Scrooge on the planet. Bah, humbug indeed. With one of the main plants in danger of being closed, the two find themselves in a bed and breakfast run by a lovely couple insistent on bringing some Christmas cheer.</p><p>based off the Hallmark Channel Original Movie "Christmas Incorporated", starring Steve Lund and Shenae Grimes-Beech</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas, Inc.

_Please let this interview be the one. Please please please. I swear I won’t skip church ever again, and I’ll stop stealing pennies from the jar in the general store they have to collect donations for animal shelters. I’ll even stop watching porn. Okay, maybe not that last one. I’ll cut down at least. Once a day? C’mon, that’s a big step for me._

 

Louis looks down and realizes his knee is bouncing up and down like crazy. He can feel drops of sweat beading under his armpits, getting ready to fall down the sleeves of his new, slightly wrinkled dress shirt. He adjusts his tie for the thousandth time, smooths his hair back, and pulls out his phone to check the time. 9:58. Two minutes to go.

 

It’s been a long day of meaningless interviews for Louis Tomlinson. Meaningless because every job he’s tried to apply for so far has resulted in his being either overqualified or under-qualified, and in one particularly confusing interview, both. Having just graduated college with a total of two internships and one work-study program, his resumé is founded mostly on his stellar GPA (3.98 and three separate diplomas, thank you very much) and the wide range of activities he was a part of. Student Finance club was a big one, as was a brief stint as president of the Career Readiness Program before he realized that the position mostly entailed reading pitifully skimpy resumes for his peers. Weren’t you supposed to have gotten past dog-sitting by the time you got to higher ed?

 

9:59. Looking at the ceiling agitatedly, Louis tries hard not to let his sigh get too loud. There are a few other applicants in the room, all around the same age and also all as sweaty-looking as himself. That makes him feel better. Looking at a guy across the room, Louis tries hard not to be envious. Just because he’s wearing Armani doesn’t mean he’s any less qualified than Louis’ thrift shop suit-clad butt. 

 

“Louis Tomlinson?”

 

Looking up, Louis sees a blond woman toting a thick black portfolio, her hair tucked behind one ear and a pen balancing neatly in the crook of the other. She smiles thinly as he gets up and tries to walk as confidently as he can muster over to her.

 

“My name’s Lou Teasdale,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m the Assistant to the Head of Human Resources here at Sweet Treats Incorporated.”

 

“Nice name,” Louis says brightly, shaking her hand. Lou clearly does not find this as amusing as he thought she would. Sobering up, he adds, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Right this way,” she says and, without looking to see if he is following, sets off down a long hallway. Louis has to jog a little to keep up with her. For walking in six inch heels, she sure knows how to move at a clip.

 

“Are you familiar with Sweet Treats’ business model?” she asks him, not turning around.

 

“I did some reading on the company’s profile, yes,” Louis answers.

 

As if he hadn’t said anything, Lou continues, “Sweet Treats is the nation’s second largest baked goods manufacturer. Most every grocery store carries our products, whether under their own bargain-brand label or as part of the seventy-five companies which special order products from our factories. Chances are, if you’ve bought it, we’ve baked it.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t bake those brownies I had at my friend Megan’s party sophomore year,” Louis cracks half-heartedly. Even though he’s staring at the back of her head, he can tell that Lou is rolling her eyes.

 

“Sweet Treats consists of a board of trustees headed by a president and co-chaired by six executive members,” she continues. “The company was founded in 1873 by Mr. Gregory Styles, and has carried on to this day through the Styles family line. The current president has been on the job for about a month now. His father passed away back in November.” Louis thinks he remembers having seen that on the news or something, but doesn’t say anything. If this is the right company, the head of the UN Security Council was there. _Must be some cupcakes._

 

“He’s been groomed for this position since the time he was five or six years old,” Lou adds, “but of course he’s finding the adjustment tricky. There’s a lot of behind the scenes activity that his father handled that is causing him undue stress. He’s fresh, only twenty-three years old.”

 

She rounds a corner and Louis has to physically stop himself from running straight into the opposing wall. “Does he have a girlfriend? Any sort of family support?”

 

“The Styles family tends to keep very much to themselves,” Lou answers curtly before stopping abruptly in front a set of wooden doors. Turning to face Louis, she adds “And I daresay he hasn’t got much time to attend to personal matters.”

 

She throws open the doors and strides in, Louis close behind her. The room is dominated by a long conference table, at which a dozen or so men and women in suits that cost as much as Louis’ college tuition sit. They look up at the pair when they walk in, but seem completely unfazed. The chair at the end of the table is facing the back wall, on which is mounted a large spotlit oil painting of a stern-faced silver-haired man, austerely dressed to match his expression.

 

“As my father always said, we have to make difficult choices, but they are always the necessary ones,” the person in the chair at the end says. Spinning back to face the group, he finishes. “And this is a very difficult choice, and therefore a very necessary one.”

 

Seated in the chair is a dashing man with brilliant green eyes and jet black hair neatly combed back. His jawline and cheekbones could cut through steel, and his gaze is piercing in its combined simplicity and intensity. He’s wearing a simple black suit, accented by a forest green pocket square which matches a slim, creaseless tie. On his wrist is one of the most expensive looking watches Louis has ever seen in his entire life.

 

“Mr. Styles,” Lou says, “I’d like to introduce Louis Tomlinson, your new assistant.”

 

Louis looks at Lou with shock. “New assistant?” he blurts out. “But I didn’t even-“

 

“Mr. Styles has reviewed your application and believes you are the best suited to fulfill his needs moving forward in this company,” Lou interrupts. Louis looks over at Mr. Styles and imagines he himself looks like a deer caught in headlights.

 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Styles,” Louis says, but the hand with the expensive watch is raised in the air.

 

“Please,” he says, smiling at Louis, “Call me Harry.”

 

Louis feels his breakfast rise in his throat and something else rise in his pants.

 

“Yes, Mr. Sty-er, Harry. I’m incredibly grateful for this opportunity, I won’t let you down, I promise.”

 

“Your promises don’t mean too much, you know,” a cocky looking man in the chair directly to the right of Harry says. Louis isn’t sure how to respond, but Harry jumps in.

 

“Answer me this, Louis,” he says. “I have a factory up north which is becoming a real point of trouble for me. These men and women here on the board say I should shut it down right away. The workers there insist that my father would want to keep it open. What would you do?”

 

All eyes are on Louis, he can feel them burning into his face. Swallowing nervously, Louis musters up what little courage he can find and says with as much confidence as possible “I’d go there myself. Clearly you have allegiance to your father, both genetically and fiscally. After all, without him this company wouldn’t still exist. The opinions of the board members here are only valid because they even have a company to represent. And until you go onto the factory floor and meet the workers, I’d say you can’t be sure about whether or not you’re making the right decision.”

 

The cocky man scoffs. “C’mon, Styles,” he says. “You can’t seriously trust-“

 

“Lou,” Harry interrupts, “Have my bags packed and ready to go for a one P.M. flight out to Bedford. Put Louis on the next plane out there, I want him to get someplace for us to stay.”

 

Louis feels his heart swell even as the cocky man gapes at him and Harry. He smiles shyly at Harry and, to his surprise, he smiles back. Before he can savor it, however, Lou is dragging him away. After all, he has a flight to catch.

 

* * * * *

 

A few hours later, Louis and a few suitcases are outside of the regional airport waiting for a ride into Bedford. Shoving his mittened hands deeper into his peacoat’s pockets, Louis can’t help but notice how damn cold it is. _How do people live like this? It feels this is some sort of eternal Arctic hell._

 

A car horn honks, and looking up Louis spots a black SUV pulling up to the curb. The passenger window rolls down, and a kind-looking blond guy who looks like he still belongs in high school smiles out at him. “Harry Styles?”

 

Louis laughs. “I wish. I’m his assistant, Louis Tomlinson. Mr. Styles will be arriving at the airport in a few hours.”

 

The blond man looks slightly disappointed for an instant, but catches himself before Louis can make much of it. “Not a problem! Let’s get you and these bags back to Bedford.” Getting out of the car, he walks over to Louis and extends a hand. “I’m Niall Horan, by the way. I work for the town’s mayor.”

 

Driving into town, Louis finds himself gaping at the sheer beauty of everything around him. _Is it actually possible for a single location south of the North Pole to have this much snow?_

 

“Surprised at all the snow?” Niall asks, looking amused at Louis’ reaction. “Don’t worry, everyone has the same thought.”

 

“I just can’t believe this is a real place,” Louis says in a state of wonderment. “I thought this kind of place only existed in storybooks or cheesy Christmas movies.”

 

Niall laughs. “Nope, that’s Bedford. In the summer it looks a lot different, but this time of year it’s nothing short of a Christmas card.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Louis says, watching in awe as they drive past what at first appears to be a small Christmas tree farm but is actually the town square. “This is like a Currier and Ives print.”

 

“It’s definitely one of the most festive places to spend the season,” Niall adds with a smile. Louis half expects to see the people on the sidewalks break into a choreographed musical number.

 

Niall turns down a side street and soon parks the car in front of a charming Victorian style house with a white picket fence draped in live garland. 

 

“This has got to be a movie set,” Louis says, fingering the garland absentmindedly and almost feeling guilty when he breaks off a berry by accident. “Or a postcard, or some sort of mass hallucination.”

 

Niall laughs from where he’s unloading the suitcases. “Nope, no mass hallucinations here. This is real life, I can promise you that!”

 

The two walk up the front walk - perfectly shoveled, Louis notes - and up the pristine steps into the main lobby. Louis’ jaw almost hits the ground when he walks inside. A ten foot tall Christmas tree decorated in gold and red baubles soars to the second floor, given access by a gently curving staircase complete with a cherry wood bannister. A fire crackles softly in an iron-grated fireplace in the adjacent room, and peeking in Louis spots another Christmas tree surrounded by perfectly wrapped presents and framed by antique armchairs. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf holds too many dusty tomes to count, and Louis notices that the music he can hear is coming from a gramophone on which is spinning Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song”. Directly ahead of him is a dining room, a grand table surrounded by a half-dozen chairs on each side, with an oversized bouquet of winter flowers in the center, inches below a crystal chandelier.  

 

“Absolutely unreal,” Louis murmurs, half to himself and half to whomever is in earshot. Before he can investigate further, two men in wool sweaters, rugged denim pants and matching boots enter the foyer, all smiles. One carries a tray of cookies.

 

“Welcome! You must be Mr. Styles,” the one with the black hair says, extending a hand. “I’m Zayn Malik, and this is my husband Liam Payne. We’re the owners of the Gingerbread House Bed & Breakfast.”

 

“I’m Mr. Styles’ assistant,” Louis says, shaking Zayn’s hand. “My name’s Louis Tomlinson. Mr. Styles should be arriving in a few hours.” 

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Zayn says, grinning. Pointing at the tray his husband is carrying, he asks “Cookie? Gingerbread men, fresh out of the oven.” Liam smiles at him and offers the tray. Louis takes one and bites in. It’s still warm and the gingerbread flakes off gently in his mouth.

 

“Ohmygod,” he says through a mouth full of warm cookie, “this is literally a dream. This is completely unreal.” 

 

Zayn laughs. “You can thank Liam, he’s the chef around here.” Liam blushes and adds a quick “I’m glad you like them.”

 

“Liam is the head baker at the local Sweet Treats factory,” Niall adds, coming in with the last set of suitcases and setting them down on the floor. Louis looks at Liam sympathetically.

 

“It must be a difficult time for you,” he says. Liam shrugs as nonchalantly as he can, although his eyes reveal a deep sense of pain.

 

“It’s been challenging, for sure,” he says. “Everyone’s a little on edge, especially with the holidays right around the corner. A lot of my bakers have families they’re supporting. I’m lucky we have the extra income of the B&B to fall back on.”

 

Zayn nods and puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “It’s been a difficult few months. Ever since Mr. Styles Senior died the entire factory has been very tense.” Looking at Louis with curiosity mixed with sadness, he asks “Do you know if Mr. Styles is going to close the factory?”

 

Louis smiles sadly and shakes his head. “I honestly don’t,” he says, “But that’s why we’re-I mean, he’s taking this trip, to get a sense of what the situation is on the ground.”

 

Liam nods like a kid leaving their mom in kindergarten for the first time. “I’m sure he’ll make the right choice.”

 

There’s a brief period of silence, after which Niall claps his gloved hands together and says “Well, I’ve got a few errands to run before I fetch Mr. Styles from the airport, so I’d better get on those.” He takes a cookie from Liam’s tray with his left hand and extends his right to Louis. “It was nice meeting you, Louis Tomlinson,” he says with a grin.

 

Louis grins back and returns the handshake. “You too, Niall Horan.”

 

Zayn walks towards the staircase, one of Louis’ bags in each hand. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Tomlinson, I can show you to your room.”

 

The room, like the rest of the inn, is absolutely impeccable. Louis’ bed is made up with a grey comforter, white sheets, and alternating green and red pillows, on top of which rest a variety of seasonal candy canes. The window is adorned with delicate lace curtains, and an electric candle flickers in the window. In the corner is a small rocking horse and a miniature Christmas tree, around which are turn-of-the-century toys and holiday advertisements. A fire burns quietly in the hearth a few feet from the bed.

 

After thanking Zayn and Liam and getting his own bags unpacked, Louis kicks off his shoes and wearily flops onto the bed. It’s soft and the room is so warm. He barely slept on the plane, and he could use a little nap…

 

The next thing Louis feels is someone grabbing his arm and shaking him somewhat roughly. He blinks open his eyes and sees a dark figure standing over him. “Wake up,” he says, shaking Louis some more.

 

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Louis sees a pissed-looking Harry standing over him, his other arm folded across his chest. Louis sits up wearily and stretches.

  
“‘M sorry, Harry, I must’ve fallen asleep,” he says blearily.

 

“Never mind that,” Harry says gruffly. “There’s been some sort of a mix-up.”

 

Louis’ mind is gradually clearing of the fog of sleep and he looks at Harry with a sense of quizzicality. “What sort of mix-up?”

 

Harry looks somewhat embarrassed, but says after a moment “They only booked one room for the two of us.” Louis takes that in, and then straightens up.

 

“That’s not a big deal,” he says, “We’ll each have our own-“

 

“No,” Harry interrupts, “This room, with the single king-sized bed. For the two of us.”

 

Oh. _Oh._

 

“Well,” Louis says, scrambling to get off the bed as if it’s now somehow tainted, “I’m sure we can talk to Zayn and Liam and get this all sorted out-“

 

“I did that,” Harry snaps, “and there’s nothing they can do. They already cancelled a couple to free up this room last minute and they can’t do that to another one just to free up more space. While you were asleep I figured all of that out.”

 

Louis blushes a deep shade of red. “I’m sorry, Harry, really, I am.”

 

“You know, considering that in your first five hours of employment you already managed to fall asleep on the job, I’m basically finding you to be useless,” Harry continues.

 

“Harry, I-“

 

“And considering all of the time and effort I had to put in myself to do your job for you I might as well just do everything around here and-“

 

“So fire me then,” Louis snaps, louder and more brash than he perhaps expected. Harry just looks at him, so he continues. “If you hate me and what I have or haven’t done that much, just fire me. You’ve clearly gotten here perfectly well on your own, what with all of those lovely chaps in the board room bossing you around like that. You can handle yourself, I get it. I’ll just get my stuff and fly back if that’s what you want.”

 

Harry looks defeated, small, and tired. He sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. “No,” he says, “that’s not what I want I want. You’ve been great so far, and you falling asleep isn’t a crime. We’re all tired. I’m tired.”

 

Louis looks at him sympathetically. “Get some rest, Harry,” he says. “You need it, there’s no way you’re going to be able to function without it. And I can’t do my job without a boss, so you dying on me won’t do me any good.”

 

Harry laughs wryly. “You still might get a paycheck.”

 

Louis grins. “Depends on whether Lou likes me or not.”

 

“I think she does. Otherwise she wouldn’t have passed your resume along to me.” Harry smiles at Louis and their eyes meet. There’s something there, some sort of connection or-

 

“Well, I won’t keep you up,” Louis says. “I’m going to go see about booking Niall to drive us to the factory tomorrow and get meals sorted out for you. Might go see whether I can get an in with the post office too.”

 

“While you’re at it, get these pillow shams changed,” Harry adds. “I hate these colors, they’re tacky.”

 

Louis laughs. “They’re Christmas! Get in the spirit of things!”

 

“I hate Christmas,” Harry says gruffly, shaking one of the green pillowcases off its respective pillow. Louis rolls his eyes. _How can any functional human being, much less one who runs a bakery, hate Christmas?_

 

“Okay there, Scrooge,” Louis jokes, “I’ll see what I can do.” Walking to the door, he stops before leaving and turns to look at Harry. “If I come in and you’re asleep, I promise I won’t try and wake you.” Harry smiles gratefully and Louis walks out, shutting the door behind him.

 

Exhaling deeply, Louis leans back against the door. Five hours working for a Christmas-hating hot bakery magnate and he’s already completely exhausted and half-questioning his sanity. Plus, he can’t help but think that-

 

Nope, he shuts that thought right of his mind. He’s got work to do. There are rides to be booked, and packages to be sent, and pictures with Santa to be taken. And, whether or not he wants to admit it to himself, there are hints of feelings that need to be forgotten, and the sooner the better.

**Author's Note:**

> god bless us everyone
> 
> like, share, comment, enjoy! xxx


End file.
